Starting Cultivation During a Trip

”Right now!?”

Zhang Fan stared intently at his phone screen, looking at the reply from [Thousand-Year-Old Demon], his expression instantly shifting to something strange.

”Are you joking?” Zhang Fan hurriedly sent a message back.

However, the other party fell silent again.

”How are we supposed to meet right now? Where are you?” Zhang Fan thought for a moment, then rephrased his question.

”If you have the intent, I shall descend!”

Just then, words flashed across the screen—eight bold characters popped up in [Thousand-Year-Old Demon]’s chat window.

Bzzzz…

In the blink of an eye, Zhang Fan’s whole body trembled, his phone slipped out of his hand, his eyes half-shut half-open, as if he were a statue of god or Buddha in a temple, his eyelids lowered, leaving only a sliver of sight.

”This is...”

Light and shadow flickered before his eyes, vanishing and returning again.

”Primordial Spirit Inner Scenery!?”

Zhang Fan felt it—his Primordial Spirit was being dragged into an Inner Scenery, yet it wasn’t his own Primordial Spirit Inner Scenery.

Right now, the heavens were vast, fleeting images swirled past; beneath the somber black sky, rivers surged, winding like giant dragons, rushing into the distance—as far as the eye could reach, with only a sliver of moonlight shining upon the great river.

”Chasing the heavens and earth, crossing river and sea, swirling for years, rising to the towers. When the moon appears, then the moon comes—immortals still dwell in Bai Yujing.”

Right then, a soft voice rang out, tinted by the loneliness and desolation piercing through the ages, surging and ebbing like the sobbing of waves, like the wind rising through heaven and earth—so bleak, so empty—echoing through the hoary cosmos.

Zhang Fan’s Primordial Spirit gazed intently, finally glimpsing it: upon the mighty river, a human figure stood still, hovering atop the waves.

”It’s you!?”

Zhang Fan was filled with doubt and astonishment; he had no idea who this person in front of him could be, without ever showing himself, to have dragged him into his own Primordial Spirit Inner Scenery—the strength and means of his Divine Techniques, utterly unfathomable.

Crash...

Waves surged up, shattering the moon reflected across the river’s face; the wind brushing up stirred the hem of that solitary figure’s robe.

Between heaven and earth, only the sounds of wind and waves accompanied that lonely silhouette, rendering it all the more desolate.

”Are you the Thousand-Year-Old Demon!?”

Zhang Fan hesitated briefly before finally speaking, probing carefully with his question.

Rumble...

Barely had he finished, when a gale swept violently across the great river, billowing the furious waves, howling with thunderous rage.

Just then, that solitary and enigmatic figure slowly turned, looking directly at Zhang Fan.

”Hm!?”

Zhang Fan immediately grew alert, instinctively stepping backward.

Upon the rolling Yangtze River, the mysterious figure hadn’t budged the slightest bit, as though he’d merged with this endless, bleak, sorrowful atmosphere.

Bzzzz…

Just then, that mysterious shadow slowly raised his hand, drawing in the empty air, just one stroke, from top to bottom.

One stroke, powerful as a sword unleashed, spanning heaven and earth, sweeping along rivers.

Just a single stroke, and it looked like the form of a sword—yet as the stroke drew upward at its finish, it also resembled a leaping flame.

This mood was strikingly similar to what Zhang Fan had seen at the Pure Yang Hall on Zhenwu Mountain, when viewing the Ancestor Lv Stele.

That day, when Zhang Fan saw the Pure Yang Stele, every single character seemed like a dancing flame; Senior Po Jie said the Ancestor Master Chunyang in his early years followed Fire Dragon Daoist to study the Alchemy Technique and gained the mysteries of True Fire.

Later, Ancestor Master Chunyang perfected the Fire Dao, cultivated immortality and refined swords, leaving behind these words:

Once met Fire Dragon Monarch in years past, one sword imparted, to keep him company henceforth. Heaven and earth, mountains and rivers, from the primeval froth; stars and sun and moon, come and go as they please.

Just now, that one stroke in the empty air, part sword part flame, in Zhang Fan’s gaze, was gradually merging with the Pure Yang Stele he had once seen—a boundless xuanmiao stirring within, and thus the Pill Fire True Sword Technique was born.

...

Rumble...

Outside the hotel, thunder rolled, dark clouds surging and veiling the bright moon.

Jiang Hu glanced out the window, his brow furrowing unconsciously.

As a cultivator, keenly attuned to the shifting vital energies and celestial harmonies, he could immediately sense the disruptions in the hotel’s surrounding magnetic field.

”Zhang Fan... Tonight is far from peaceful.” Jiang Hu called out, but received not a single response.

”Hm!?”

Jiang Hu turned, catching sight of Zhang Fan seated cross-legged on the bed, breath slow and deep, almost imperceptible.

”Meditating at a time like this!?” Jiang Hu’s gaze grew somewhat grave.

Knock, knock, knock…

Just then, a series of knocks sounded at the door.

”Who is it?” Jiang Hu was instantly alert.

”It’s us...”

Zhan Xinyue’s voice called from outside the door.

Jiang Hu relaxed ever so slightly, quickly getting up to open it.

The door swung wide; Sui Chunsheng was carrying a battered, ancient earthen jar, with yellow talismans plastered on it—[Hundred Character] talismans, inscribed with Great Seal for Demon-Slaying and Evil-Restraint.

”What the hell... What’s inside this thing?” Jiang Hu felt his heart skip a beat.

He was a master of talismans, taught by the Maoshan Orthodox Sect, and so could immediately tell the sealing talisman on the jar was no ordinary thing.

The Hundred Character Talisman, even most High Skill adepts might not be able to draw it; let alone with the addition of the Demon-Slaying and Evil-Restraint Great Seal.

This was almost the highest tier of demon-sealing talisman Jiang Hu had ever seen; had this been in ancient times, such a level of demon would qualify for suppression in the Demon Suppression Well of a renowned mountain temple.

”This can’t be real, can it?” Jiang Hu muttered to himself.

He had thought whatever he’d been tasked to escort as one of a handful of young people would be something ordinary, but unexpectedly it was something this important—sealed like a Great Demon; if anything went wrong, the consequences would be unthinkable.

”Has Jiangnan Province Daoist Alliance run out of people?” Jiang Hu thought inwardly.

”He’s meditating?”

Zhan Xinyue had just stepped inside, instantly aware of Zhang Fan’s condition—his Primordial Spirit flickering in and out, seemingly present yet absent, lost in the tranquility of meditation.

”Mhm.”

Jiang Hu responded off-handedly, yet couldn’t take his eyes off the earthen jar.

”Tonight won’t be peaceful.”

Sui Chunsheng set the jar down, sliding it toward Jiang Hu.

With a simple sentence, the two young experts of Jiangnan Province showed they’d sensed the hotel’s strange atmosphere as well.

Now, just past the beginning of autumn, it was the dead of night, thunder roaring outside, and mist surging around the hotel—such abnormal weather was entirely out of the ordinary.